


I'll Give My All To You

by thepizzasitter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Barebacking, Bottom Sam, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Castiel, Sam Has Issues, Sassy, Sastiel - Freeform, Top Castiel, castiel tries to help, castiel wants sam to realize how precious he is, mentions of past relationships for sam, sam shuts up and listens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 17:17:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1234657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepizzasitter/pseuds/thepizzasitter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sam pulled the blankets tighter around himself and thought perhaps he’d found a new addiction. A subtle, crafty, bathed-in-light craving that was somehow more damning than demon blood. Was he doomed to need what he couldn’t have until he felt the sting of Hell again? He wondered why he even bothered asking anymore." (Sastiel)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Give My All To You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for buticancarryyou over on tumblr. I was listening to "All of Me" by John Legend. It's an amazing song. For additional fics, drabbles, cosplay, and more, please check out my Tumblr (kesstiel.tumblr.com) Enjoy darlings!

“More, I can take more,” Sam breaths, eyes wild and glossed over, but not with pain. The shredding, ripping ache from hours before is soothed and lost to the heat, the blessed warmth of the pleasure burning its way through his body. His hair is mussed and he bleeds only from where he’d bitten through the skin on his lip when Cas had first pushed into his body. The words spilling from his lips are laced with need rather than fear and hurt. “Don’t stop, keep go— _ah!_ Oh god, please keep going.”

—-

The whispers were nothing new, not by a long shot.

Sam couldn’t remember a time, not anymore, when there hadn’t been voices in his head. Voices that whispered malicious, demeaning things. Words that scalded like Hell with their torturously cold burns. Cold, cold, cold, he was always freezing in one way or another.

 

Sam pulled the blankets tighter around himself and shivered with the dull throb that had been left in the wake of Gadreel’s remnant Grace being ripped from his body. The extraction had been for nothing and now the small measure of warmth that came from an angel’s essence—no matter if he was friend or foe—was gone.

No amount of thermos bottles and blankets piled high could replace it, and Sam thought perhaps he’d found a new addiction. A subtle, crafty, bathed-in-light craving that was somehow more damning than demon blood. Was he doomed to need what he couldn’t have until he felt the sting of Hell again?

Sam snorted and shook his head in wry amusement against the soft fabric of the pillow.

That question had been answered ages ago.

He wondered why he still asked it sometimes.

—-

“Please, _please!_ ” He cries out, pushing back against the small thrusts of the angel’s hips, feeling himself open wider to let Cas in. “I can take it, just have me, I don’t need—”

“ _Be silent, Sam!_ ” Cas’s voice is power and light and backed with the resonance of a heaven lost to them all. “Let me do this, let me give. I don’t want to take from you. I don’t want to be like the world that has left you bereft and without care for yourself.” Cas presses his forehead to Sam’s back, letting his lips brush over the scarred skin he found there as he moves. The slight waver of his words is more than Sam could take right now.

“Okay,” he murmurs, voice wrecked and strained with need.

—-

Tonight had brought one small difference, and for better or worse, Sam latched onto new things like a lifeline. The breaking of monotony was enough to send him chasing after the softer voice that swam through his head. Deep and rumbling and saying things that could let him pretend. He could lose himself with the voice that proclaimed in old languages the power and radiant light of his soul. The tone that tore through his spirit and left it singing cried out into the heavens that his heart and mind were things to covet, to be nurtured and set to loving the world and seeking out its mysteries. It pleaded for all to know that he was a priceless treasure, a gem amongst a vast hoard of riches, to be guarded and carefully maintained rather than left to tarnish and grow dulled with weariness.

Sam loved this voice.

—-

“Tell me that you know,” Cas says, more begging than demanding. His movements still, buried in the hunter’s body, but no amount of panting on Sam’s part is going to get him to move.

Sam shakes his head, trying to find the words that will convey just how much he could know but not understand. “I don’t, Cas. I don’t know if I can,” he admits, breath hitching when Cas starts a slow rhythm, a dragging glide that has Sam crying out and collapsing to his elbows, tipping his ass up in further invitation, hoping against hope that Cas will just plunge in and take what is his.

“I will spend forever trying to explain it to you, then.” Sam has never believed a promise so quickly. Stupid of him, really.

 _I’m so weak._ His hands fist into the sheets of the bed and he buries his face into the pillow, squeezing his eyes until sparkles dance at the edges of his vision. _So weak, pathetic, childish, wreckless, hateful—_

—-

“Sam?”

Sam blinked and he looked at his hands, clutching a blade that was pressed along a pale throat, shadowed with stubble. He couldn’t remember moving, brain sluggishly catching up to his body’s reaction to an unexpected presence in the room.

_Monster, monster, monster!_

Breaths strangled out of his throat and his hand strained to let go of the blade that clattered to the floor.

He followed with his knees.

“—sorry!” He gasped, eyes wide but unseeing, unable to see the color of Cas’s coat or the grieving worry etched into the angel’s face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Cas I—” His body caved in on itself, trying to show he wasn’t a threat, not really, that he would face Lucifer or Gadreel or Hell or demons and their blood a thousand times before he made so much as a scratch on Castiel’s skin.

He could feel his frame shuddering, his arms gripped one another, trying to curl up so he wouldn’t have to face the wretchedness of what he’d been about to do. Sobs that didn’t feel like his own were pressed into barely rough cloth, his hands clinging to the angel in desperation.

 _Unworthy to touch._ His mind was merciless tonight. _You did a selfish thing already, taking a hug he probably didn’t want to give._

And yet he could only cling tighter.

—-

“I can hear the loathing in your head, Sam,” Cas grits out, leaning down to kiss the side of Sam’s neck, wishing Sam had not insisted on this position where he can not even see the hunter’s face. He knows the reason for it—he is understanding humanity in ways he sometimes wishes he didn’t more recently. Still, he can’t help the ache settling in his chest. This man who has given everything and expects nothing except to be ridiculed and hated can not face him, even as he lets Castiel use his body to bring them to a place the angel has only recently begun to realize exists.

The slow, steady thrusts into his body are breaking everything. With Jess, the sex had been light, good and sweet, with playful experimentation and mutual desire for the give and take. Ruby had destroyed him, sucking his soul from him as he sucked her blood. It was rutting: fierce and so, so good. She had left a mangled plaything in her wake that Amelia hadn’t had time to put back together. They’d been grieving together, one for the loss of a husband, the other for the loss of his own life. It was pain in a different way than with Ruby, but a deeper hurt than any nails or blades could achieve. The girls between, the one night stands that were few and far between, the women he thought he could achieve peace with that were dead just days or weeks later…

He doesn’t know why it was this—this inexperienced but determined push and pull, the wandering hands that press his hips back onto Cas’s cock, the hazy blue eyes and parted, slick pink lips that moan and gasp his name when he discovers that shifting this way will make the hunter see flickering lights and cry out in pleasure—this act with _this_ angel that brings him a modicum of silence in his head.

———

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, head dizzy with the rush of collapse and the bone-tired ache that had rattled him all evening after the extraction.

Strong, sure hands touched his head. Fingers slid just slightly into his hair, not lingering for long before they moved down to touch his face, gentle and wary, like he could break if those fingertips pressed a little harder. Cas’s face came into his range of vision, all the worry there in the set of his brow and jaw and sweet mouth and saddened eyes.

“I’m sorry, too,” Cas said, and Sam felt the air he’d try to take in leave his lungs again. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I know better than to be silent around you or your brother.” A smile quirked at the edges of Cas’s mouth. “Call it fair?”

Sam’s mouth hung open stupidly for a moment, before his answer was too late and Cas had already moved on. He was lifted to his feet with another sweep of vertigo, confused and disoriented, which the angel took full advantage of.

Sam found himself sitting on the edge of the bed, blinking to try and clear away the last of the strange haze. “Cas?”

The angel huffed out a laugh. “Who else?”

Sam couldn’t help but smile at that. He liked the Cas that could smile and give as much sass as he took. “Did you need something?” Cas had probably come to ask about the research they’d halfheartedly tried to do on tracking Gadreel.

“No,” Cas said. He wasn’t lying, Sam could tell, and yet…

“Actually, it isn’t what I needed, per se. I merely wanted to check on your well being. After such a harrowing day, I did not expect you to still be awake,” the angel explained, glancing pointedly at the open books scattered around the room from Sam’s continued attempts to focus on research.

“I’m fine.” A knee-jerk reaction, but it was a lie a mile long and they both knew it. Sam hoped Cas would let it go, but it looked like Cas was through with skirting the subject. The hunter wondered when he’d started being the one to evade discussion.

“And you say I’m a terrible liar,” Cas murmured softly, understanding in the lines of his face—no longer borrowed, but his own.

Sam lowered his head a little, knowing he’d been caught out, but still ashamed that he felt the need to lie at all. Those hands were suddenly back on his face, and Sam could almost convince himself they held him the way he wanted to be held, just once, just to remind him that it wasn’t all blood and fever and a race to the end for them all.

—-

He’s so close. He’s so close but Cas is determined to drag this out as long as he can and god, Sam loves this needs this. It’s a new kind of ‘not enough’, the best kind, the sort that has him making whimpery, breathy noises he didn’t know he was even capable of. He can’t bring himself to think about how undignified he sounds, because Cas sounds about as wrecked as he feels, gasping out praise and loving words that contrast so beautifully with the hard thrusts of his hips that are driving Sam wild; closer and closer to the edge. The rough tugs of Cas’s hand on his cock are making it difficult to decide whether he should fuck himself back against Cas or shove forward into the tight tunnel of his fist.

“ _Worthy_ ,” Cas pants into his ear, wonder evident in his voice. “Beautiful and good, Sam. You feel so _good_ , I can’t—I want—” He doesn’t get to finish, because Sam makes a flash decision to halt the angels movements and turn onto his back, willingly recanting his need to be unseen, because Cas just has this way of leaving him defenseless and somehow that is ceasing to bother Sam. It should terrify him.

And yet, when he watches Cas’s eyes light with fierce joy at his acceptance, he thinks it’s okay to be scared. Who wouldn’t be terrified at the devotion this warrior holds for him? The fear makes it no less intoxicating.

—-

“Sam…” The hunter’s skin felt too tight. He didn’t think he’d ever heard that tone from Cas, except sometimes around Dean. But not on _his_ name. Never directed at him. “I don’t think I can promise anything anymore. My promises always end up broken, by my choices or my good intentions or the universe at large, it doesn’t matter. My word is nothing, least of all to you and Dean.” Cas’s throat constricted, Adam’s apple bobbing with the force of his swallow, and Sam wondered if that was how angels cried. “But if I could make a promise I could keep, it would be that I will never hurt you again. If I could have just one thing right now, it would be that you would be spared of everything, everything you will possibly have to face, and that you would be given the riches of heaven and earth and have the world fall at your feet in recognition of what you’ve given and keep giving in spite of the endless torture you’ve faced.”

Cas stroked his thumbs over the bags under Sam’s eyes, and the hunter felt his eyes slip shut and his body tremble with the unashamed worship in the angel’s voice.

He knew that voice, but not here. Not in reality where he was far less than perfect. Far less than tainted, even less than an abomination.

“Stop it,” Cas whispered, sinking to his knees before Sam, eyes wounded when he pressed a little harder at Sam’s temples. “I can hear it all, you scream it for everyone to hear, and you’re _wrong_ , Sam. We were _all_ wrong. You can’t see it, and you’re even less inclined to believe it, but you are…” the awe in Cas’s expression was like a blade in Sam’s skin, slicing and peeling away the meat and bone of him to see into the very center of him. “You are exquisite. Stained and bruised along the edges, but if you could _see_ —”

He made a frustrated noise, lamenting at the lacking language, and Sam couldn’t stop the tears if he tried. “The world is not worthy of you,” Cas said instead, and he sounded so _sorry_ for it.

“I don’t want the world,” Sam mumbled, swiping at his eyes to clear them of salt and water. His hands came up to press over Cas’s on his face, leaning into the caress helplessly, gravitating in spite of himself.

“Would you have me instead?” Cas was so quiet, Sam almost missed the words, but their eyes connected and Sam felt his world shift a degree on its axis.

—-

When they come, it’s together. Castiel doesn’t say his name, his mouth open on a surprised, wordless cry, but Sam hears it nonetheless—a flash fire and thrum in his veins that rattle down into his core.

Sam arches up and spurts messily across his stomach and chest, keening the angel’s name and Castiel thinks it could be a hymn the way Sam sings it.

They sink back to earth, sated and silent save for stilted breathing.

“I…think I’m starting to understand why my brothers and sisters are so quick to indulge in the pleasures of the flesh,” Cas muses as Sam tries to regain his breath through tired, throaty laughter.

“You can say sex, Cas. Promise you won’t grow hair in weird places or anything.”

“Why would I grow ha—human metaphors are so confusing, and I don’t think a single one of you knows it.” It’s said so grouchily that Sam can’t help but laugh again and wrap his arms around the ruffled angel, pressing his face into the back of his neck greedily while Cas sighs contentedly. Moments pass, and Sam opens his mouth once to let every insecurity he pushed down rise again.

“What—”

“No questions tonight, Sam.”

“But—”

“Does ‘I love you’ answer enough of them that you can find some repose?”

Sam is struck mute by the bone jarring thought, mind attempting to whir up into action and begin over analyzing everything all over again, but then…

—-

They’re kissing. They’re _kissing_ —Sam is kissing Castiel, he’s got his lips against the softness of his friend’s mouth and they’re kissing and that is _definitely_ a tongue coming to play with his own. He breaks and there is no going back. He never wants to go back.

—-

“Yeah, I think it does,” he says, and actually means it. They drift into a different state, a perpetually soft one, Sam finds himself pressing in closer, neither speaking again until one moment passes and the next brings a new, suddenly rising sun.

It’s the first time in a long while that Sam greets the morning with a flutter of eyelids and a sense that things have fallen a little more into place. “ _Castiel_ ,” he breathes, and the hum that vibrates against his chest in response feels like coming home.


End file.
